


Damar and Siana

by evenstar8705



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcohol Withdrawal, F/M, Gen, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, Science Fiction, Some Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-10-20 19:36:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20680805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evenstar8705/pseuds/evenstar8705
Summary: Takes place in the last season at the Dominion Headquarters. Siana, a woman of mixed alien races, helps Damar break his addiction and becomes something of a friend as a result. Melset, a friend and fellow fanfiction writer suggested this character to me. I've enjoyed writing it.





	1. Prologue

Damar sat at the bar after the officer’s meeting intending to get thoroughly drunk. Weyoun had decided that he liked Quark’s bar on DS9 so much he had tried to replicate it as closely as possible at the Dominion headquarters even if the Vorta and Jem’Hadar avoided it. He had hired a Ferengi to manage and tend it but he was nothing like Quark. Damar knew better than to spill secrets again or so he hoped. 

Weyoun could be found indulging in dabo frequently, a highly unusual habit for a creature of his species. Damar suspected the Vorta got perverse pleasure whenever he happened to encounter the Cardassian Legate losing himself again in kanar. He loved to mock Damar and call him out on his shameful addiction.

Damar scowled at the Vorta and sipped his poison of choice spitefully. Weyoun bowed his head and didn’t sport a smug smile but his eyes were far too wide and gleeful. He went straight for the dabo tables and was soon giggling like a school girl and winning a fortune. It was all play to him, however. To Damar’s dismay, Weyoun was actually good at gambling. Why couldn’t his own vice be beneficial?

His head was soon swimming with the memory of Ziyal’s innocent face before his. He could hear her asking sweetly for instructions when he volunteered to help her repair parts of the Klingon ship her father had commandeered thanks to Kira’s brilliant plan. Ziyal was so eager to please her Cardassian relatives and friends. She had even counted Glinn Damar as her friend. Sometimes he got the vibe that she might have had a little crush on him, but he was married and she was more a kid sister to him than a potential lover. She was a hybrid to boot.

And he had executed her. No, he had murdered her. Not even Dukat would have done what he did. 

He thought to himself: I wouldn’t have allowed myself to bear a hybrid child! I made certain any woman I was with but my wife was on birth control and used it myself. I wanted no bastards. I have a pure son born in lawful wedlock. That is enough for me.  
That you know of, said a nasty voice in his head. Don’t lie to yourself. You’ve been drunk and woken with dabo girls in your bed. How can you be so certain that you don’t have a dozen bastards wondering what sort of monster makes a child and doesn’t give a whit about them?

He drank deep and groaned. He heard Dukat’s wails in his ears, proclaiming his love as his daughter died in his arms. Not only did Damar gun her down without a trial or procedure of any kind, he had done it in front of her father. He knew Obsidian Order torturers that would never be so cruel.

“She was a traitor!” he said aloud to his bottle of half-finished kanar. “She betrayed Cardassia and gave the Alpha Quadrant to Starfleet and Bajor!”

But did she? The voice was in his ear again. Who exactly did she betray? Not her biological mother Naprem. Not her surrogate mother Kira Nerys. She was half Bajoran and half Cardassian. She was always betraying one race or the other no matter what the poor child did! In fact, she might have saved both Bajor and Cardassia with her actions and only betrayed the Dominion! 

You knew in your heart when Dukat signed the treaty with that cold and evil empire, he had sold out the honor of your people. He had lost faith in the soldiers. He was grabbing false and empty victories. He dragged Cardassia into a war with the Klingons and wasn’t cautious and careful as he should have been. Instead of blaming himself, he blamed Central Command. Why didn’t you speak out against him? You realized too late that he was mad!

“Dukat is probably dead now! He’s gone native on Bajor. Someone will kill him if he doesn’t muck it up and kill himself!”

“Alright, that’s it!” the Ferengi snapped at him. “You’re cut off, Cardassian! I know that when you start talking to yourself, you’ve had more than enough! Go to bed!”

“Do you know who I am?” Damar growled.

“A drunkard,” a woman’s voice crept near his ear.

He swung around, almost backhanding her with his bottle in hand. The woman merely ducked with quick reflexes and shot him a death glare. She was lucky he was a drunkard and the Dominion didn’t allow weapons in their headquarters without express written permission. He might have shot her. She probably deserved it more than Ziyal did.

“I didn’t want to love that child,” he sobbed pitifully thinking his voice was too low to hear but it wasn’t. “She was a mixed mongrel but I couldn’t help but love her. No one could resist Torah Ziyal.”

“You need rest, soldier!” the woman barked like a drill sergeant to try to jar his military instinct. “On your feet!”

He hadn’t realized that he’d crumpled to the floor until then. It was cold and filthy. His hands were sopping wet in a puddle of his spilled kanar. The liquid looked like oil tainting everything that it touched. He was so drunk he was hallucinating that it was Ziyal’s blood all over his hands. 

He let out a cry and looked up into the strange face of the woman. That made things so much worse. She looked Cardassian for the most part, but there were clues that she was horribly mixed. She had the inky black hair of a Cardassian, but her eyes were a soft brown like a Terran’s or Bajoran’s. There were barely perceptible nose ridges, and her skin was too pale and soft despite subtle neck ridges. She wore an ivory gown that made her mismatched skin tone even more obvious. In too many ways, she reminded him of Ziyal.

“Forgive me!” he whispered.

“Cardassians never ask forgiveness!” everyone around him was astonished by his uncharacteristic behavior.

“Few of them have done the things I have!” he responded. “During the Occupation and after it, I obeyed Dukat’s orders like a well trained and unquestioning pet! The one time that I defied him, I made the wrong choice!”

I regret killing that girl! He realized that terrible truth now. I would give anything to bring her back!

“You are humiliating yourself, Legate!” the woman said firmly.

“You were the woman taking notes at the meeting?” he wasn’t entirely sure since kanar affected even his Cardassian photographic memory and made it fuzzy.

“Yes.”

“You’ve been watching me!” he accused. 

“Yes.”

“Who do you work for?”

“At the moment, I work for you.”

“The hell you do!”

“I must get you to your quarters before you disgrace yourself further.”

“No, I’m not finished here!”

“Yes, you are, Damar.”

“How dare you use my name?”

He wanted to fight her with his entire being but he passed out drunk like a shameful and primordial village idiot.


	2. Corn Syrup?

Damar woke within his own bed made up properly instead of in complete disarray. He was used to half the bed sheet being pulled off and missing at least one pillow. He was properly dressed in night clothes he didn’t remember changing into. He had passed out in bed still dressed in his cumbersome armor more than once. A fresh uniform was pressed and neatly folded and waiting for him upon his desk nearby. His armor was nowhere to be seen. 

Needless to say, he was terribly confused. Who had brought him here? Who had stripped him and redressed him? He hoped it was a fellow Cardassian with honor or better a Jem’Hadar soldier. They were incapable of violating him or feeling anything resembling lust for a man or woman of any species.

The Vorta claimed to have no such desires, but Weyoun had expressed an odd fascination watching interspecies mating rituals. Who knew what other dark things he liked? Sometimes he wondered if Vorta were truly crazed sex maniacs hiding their true intentions for the Alpha Quadrant. Jem’Hadar were controlled by the geriatric drug they called The White. What did the Vorta get as a reward from the Founders? Was the power of being masters over other slaves really enough?

“I took the liberty of requesting leave of absence for you from Weyoun,” he heard that dratted woman’s voice and remembered his behavior last night. “Your involuntary treatment begins now.”

“My treatment?” he glowered at her. “For what?”

“For your addiction, Damar. You are a raging alcoholic.”

“This is absolute folly!” he spat. “What makes you think you can force this on me?”

She grinned at him as she boldly set a tray of food on his nightstand. He stared at the objects.

“This is prickly pear juice,” she pointed at the glass of amber liquid. “It’s an excellent natural remedy for hangovers. There is plain oatmeal in the bowl.”

“I won’t touch them!” he declared stubbornly. 

She rolled her eyes, “Then starve, you ingrate!”

With that, she left his quarters. He tried to follow and realized that the door was locked. He was a prisoner of this doctor or whatever she was!

He did his best not to rage. He had been taught that nothing couldn’t be solved by a sharp and focused Cardassian mind. He tried to hack the door, but his captor had anticipated that. He tried to use the computer to beam him elsewhere, but that proved impossible. He couldn’t call his fellow officers either. Only Weyoun could be reached and he wouldn’t give that bastard the satisfaction!

He needed a drink. He searched for his stash of kanar. He found a bottle and cradled it as though it was his son in his arms, still an infant. He honestly couldn’t remember the boy’s birth date. He realized he was a terrible father. He needed to drink and keep drinking until he forgot that fact.

He took an eager gulp and had a delayed reaction to it, but he quickly began to gag as he realized he had been played for a fool. Of course the woman had replaced the real stuff with something else. Why would she observe bottles of his vice in his quarters and allow him to indulge? Instead of kanar, the bottle was full of pure corn syrup dyed black with food coloring to fool him. 

The syrup tasted so sickly sweet and was so thick and soupy that he almost regurgitated everything in his system. He reeled at not just the taste, but at the humiliation he was experiencing and the arrogance of that woman!

He took deep breaths, trying to regain his composure. He was not just a Cardassian soldier, he was a Legate! He was the leader of his planet. He hadn’t asked for the position, it was thrust on him when Dukat was disgraced and he had stupidly removed the more competent people from power long before. He had no idea his plans would backfire. Damar knew he couldn’t balk, though, and he had to clean up his former mentor’s mess. What a task!

He needed a drink. He was getting frantic. He commanded the replicator to replicate his preferred poison. He was surprised when the familiar bottle appeared in its beautiful curved and crystal glory. Diamonds didn’t shine nearly as brightly or lustrously.  
He impulsively snatched it and drank, thinking he had finally caught the woman in a careless mistake. Did she forget that he could technically replicate all the booze in the known galaxy? Being locked in his room might not be so bad then. It was practically a vacation in these circumstances! He needed a break from that slimy slug named Weyoun and his overwhelming responsibilities!

He really did retch this time when he realized he was the one that had been duped. The replicator had been tampered with. The bottle was full of dyed corn syrup and every bottle he replicated would be.

“That bitch!” he shouted at the top of his lungs.

He smashed the bottle against the wall. He tossed the bowl of oatmeal after it and then half the furniture and nick-knacks in his room. No doubt he was being recorded, but he was too enraged to care how his actions would be perceived.

Once his initial madness passed, he realized that he was getting terribly thirsty. Dehydration was a real thing. The glass of prickly pear juice was still untouched and was at least pleasantly chilled with ice floating in the glass. He was morbidly curious how it would taste. He’d had oatmeal before but not prickly pear juice. He took a tentative sip.

To his surprise, it wasn’t unpleasant. It wasn’t too sweet and was strangely hydrating. After the taste of pure corn syrup and then vomit, however, just about anything would taste marvelous.

According to the logs, the liquid was the fruit of cactus. He supposed that made terrible sense. It really was good for hangovers. His headache was subsiding slowly and eventually his nausea began to fade. Hunger began to torment him instead. He approached the replicator again reluctantly.

The replicator menu had been severely limited and he feared another cruel trick like the corn syrup swap he had fallen for. Twice. To be safe, he ordered light Cardassian fare. He poked and prodded it with suspicion, as though it was alive and prepared for a struggle. The food reacted like a prepared meal should. The texture seemed right. There was no more sabotage.

This time, when he retched, it was because of the inevitable withdrawal symptoms. He couldn’t remember going without a sip of kanar this long. He had been passed out for ten hours and seething in his room for two. He replicated more prickly pear juice. The next day or two were going to be absolute hell.


	3. Bed Manners

The withdrawal symptoms were worse than he imagined they would be. His mouth was agonizingly dry and his body ached everywhere. His head and neck felt heavy as a brick. He broke out into cold sweats and couldn’t sleep. Only some Cardassians could ever sweat, and when they did, it meant something was terribly wrong.

His ‘nurse’ entered to check his vitals and he seized her wrist and demanded kanar in vain first her name second.

“Siana,” she uttered her name.

“Siana what? There must be titles or other names!”

“Dr. Siana. That’s all. If you can’t tell by my face, I’m a mysterious mongrel of very questionable breeding stock!” she said bitterly. “Now let go of me or I will defend myself!”

“What sort of doctor are you?”

“A scientist and not a medical professional so don’t expect good bed manners and gentle care from me! I’m not a simpering dabo girl either so if you try to drag me into your bed-“

“Ugh! For the love of Cardassia, NO!”

Damar shoved her away, repulsed at the very notion. Dabo girls of Bajoran origin when he was drunk was one thing but this Siana?

“I’m glad we have an understanding!” she grumbled as she rubbed her wrists where his nails left a mark. “Drink more fluids or I’ll stick you with IV’s like some invalid!”

“Try it!” he challenged.

She clapped her hands loudly near his ears. She might as well have crashed two obnoxious cymbals together. He groaned in pain at the over-stimulation of audio. She let out a wicked laugh in response.

“Enjoy your withdrawal!”

“I’ll have you imprisoned for this!”

“If you ever sober up!”

He spent the next day trembling and groaning in his bed. By nightfall, he was exhausted but couldn’t sleep. Siana seemed to take pity on him then and gave him melatonin instead of any sort of addictive sedative substance so that he finally got something resembling sleep.

He began to have nightmares of the Occupation. He woke vomiting into a pan Siana had the foresight to provide. He saw that she had been observing him by his side and begged her for medicine of any kind.

“I especially need something to put me out without the ability to dream!” he told her. “Please, Siana?”

“The harder you run from your demons, the more vicious they become,” she whispered.

He was shocked when she put her arms around him. He reeked of vomit and sweat, but she held him as he began to sob. She hadn’t revealed she had a gentle side. She was soft like a Bajoran. Her lack of ridges didn’t bother him. In fact, in the dim light, she looked like something ethereal. Maybe he was hallucinating somehow or dreaming. 

He must not have had a woman longer than he remembered if he was starting to find this monstrous woman attractive! It didn’t count if he was too drunk to remember. It could have been recently that he had a dabo girl. He wasn’t sure. 

He really should contact his wife but he couldn’t remember the last time she had responded to his messages either. All their exchanges were recorded and he had never been abusive in even his most incoherent and drunken calls, and she had always been civil, but he sensed she was disgusted with him. He hadn’t seen her since the birth of their son. They both should be haunting him, but he honestly never thought about his Cardassian family much anymore. There was so much else on his plate.

He fell asleep involuntarily in Siana’s arms. She was gone when he woke and wondered if he had dreamed her nurturing moment. He had never felt so alone but at least his symptoms were getting tolerable. That meant that his mental anguish was centered to the fore-front instead.

He tried to sleep more, but his body had enough of that. He attempted to read, but the words became a blur on the page. He couldn’t watch programs either. He ate and tasted nothing.

Bored, he began to explore the room. Siana had replaced broken items and tidied up. He found a blank journal and a pen on his desk. Folded within the journal was a note from Siana. It simply said: Write. 

He began to write whatever thoughts were in his head. There were ill thoughts, jaded thoughts, his fears and his disappointments. He tore up most of what he wrote as soon as he put the pen down.

When Siana returned, she didn’t lecture him for shredding the page, saying, “It’s very therapeutic to simply write out your thoughts even if you destroy them in shame. It helps you vent. Instead of bleeding out blood from your body or cutting someone else, you bleed ink onto a page.”

“Why are you doing this?” Damar asked miserably.

“To make you better.”

“But why you? Why do you care?”

“I study addiction and was an addict myself.”

“What substance enslaved you?”

“Just about everything,” she smiled faintly.

“How did you recover?”

“My survival depended on it. So does yours. Billions of lives were not affected by me as with you.”

What she said had a powerfully sobering effect on him and he said, “You know we have lost over six million Cardassian soldiers in this pointless Dominion War?”

“So far. It’s closer to seven million now,” she informed him with no pleasure whatsoever.

Damar winced and longed for a drop of kanar until he remembered the taste of corn syrup being chugged down his gullet. He motioned for the pan and Siana handed it to him just in time for him to heave into it. She replicated a glass of water and breath mints for him.

“Thank you,” he said sincerely.

“Keep writing. Maybe you can save some for your therapist. I am not qualified for that job.”

“I don’t like therapists!”

“Neither do I.”

She left again and found he was sad about that. He wondered if she was exaggerating about her addiction or lying about not being a therapist. He was starting to wonder a great deal about Siana.


	4. Pretenses

Several more days passed by in similar fashion, but Damar was keeping food down better and the sight of black liquid kept him clear of kanar. He suspected only Romulan ale was stronger so anything besides that beverage would seem incredibly weak and watered down in comparison. It wouldn’t much satisfy his addiction. Siana would probably think he wasn’t recovered to his satisfaction, but he made a call and gazed unflinchingly back into Weyoun’s face.

“Ah, Damar, it’s good to see you are still alive!” the Vorta said with incredulity.

“Alive and ready to oversee my duties to Cardassia!” Damar said with determination.

“You mean to the Founders!” Weyoun corrected.

“Of course,” he replied in monotone.

“Well, I see that Siana did her job well and quicker than I had anticipated! I suppose she has earned more funding for her little project,” the Vorta said condescendingly. “I expect you to be at your post on time tomorrow morning?”

“Count on it!”

“Oh, I’ve wagered against you, Damar,” Weyoun gave him a nasty smile as he abruptly ended the call.

Damar’s doors automatically unlocked that instant. He had the illusion of freedom. He was always being watched and not by Siana but the Dominion. He was painfully sober and aware now.

The first thing he did was check the casualty lists. Siana hadn’t lied. The number of dead was in fact seven million and counting. He replicated a bottle of imposter kanar. He didn’t want Weyoun catching on just how sober he had become. Best to pretend to be a drunken idiot a while longer. A true Cardassian never revealed their secrets and sometimes a weakness could be a masked trap. 

Luckily Weyoun didn’t truly care about Damar so long as he was a functioning alcoholic that would sign treaties for him. Damar sipped his corn syrup and knew in his heart he would never touch spirits of any kind again. Each sip reconfirmed that covenant he made with himself. It was difficult not to gag in Weyoun’s presence, but he kept up pretenses as he began discretely searching for the names and records of officers he could trust.

When he went to the bar, he nursed a bottle of fake kanar and Siana slipped in. He never thought he’d be so happy to see her, especially with the taste of over-sweet syrup lingering in his mouth, but he was irrationally so. She, however, looked at him with severe disappointment.

“Relapsing so quickly, my Legate?” she clucked at him. “I knew Weyoun allowed you to stop treatment too soon. Must I hold you hostage again in your quarters and force feed you IV’s and sauerkraut?”

“What the hell is sauerkraut?”

She laughed dryly, “A food fermented and invented in hell!”

“There’s no need for that.”

He held out the bottle so her sensitive nose ridges could catch a whiff of its true nature. Then she broke into a winning smile that revealed perfect pearly white teeth. She was a different woman entirely when she smiled that way.

“Very good, Damar!” she whispered with pride. “Very good!”

“You gave me the idea.”

Her smile was gone in a flash and her eyes became troubled. She was about to turn tail, but Damar stopped her.

“What do you like to drink?”

“Best to be safe and go with water,” she said hesitantly. 

Damar called to the bartender, asking for his best non-alcoholic beverage. Siana frowned.

“I will drink whatever it is if you don’t like it,” Damar reassured her. “And put it on my tab.”

“Is this your way of bribing me for silence?” Siana was utterly confused. “I’m not going to turn you in.”

“It’s just a drink, woman! Take it!”

“No man has ever offered me a drink without some hook.”

“It’s my way of thanking you, but you don’t have to accept it if you don’t want it.”

He thought she was going to refuse she stared at the glass for so long. There was a strange little plastic thing in it. They were both unfamiliar with what it was. Damar had ordered a drink. It wasn’t supposed to come with bells and whistles.

“Bartender?” he roared. “What is that thing in the drink? Did you drop a piece of pipe into it?”

The Ferengi sighed, “It’s a straw, you clueless aliens.”

“A what?” Siana and Damar were still clueless.

“It’s an emergency induction port!” the bartender’s voice dripped with sarcasm.

Siana tossed the plastic straw port thing aside and drank the entire glass in a single gulp. Damar realized that was evidence she could probably drink anything neat. She left an imprint of amethyst colored lipstick on the glass.

“Not so bad,” she approved. “You ought to try it, Legate Damar.”

“Later. Tell me, Siana, are you part fish to drink like that?”

She scowled, “Oh, har har! I don’t appreciate jabs about my mixed heritage! I’m worse than hybrid and my family chose to lose me without explaining or raising me!”

“I’m sorry,” Damar lowered his voice.

“I’m not. They were probably addicts and terrible people. They say the seed doesn’t fall far from the tree. I got my bad habits from somewhere. Genes are usually the answer to a lot of things.”

“Who raised you, then?”

“The Institute. They found me bizarre and I found a love of science.”

“So no individual claims you?”

She laughed bitterly again, “And do you want to ‘claim’ me, Legate?”

He flushed gray and she was disturbed by his display. She backed away from him a little. He stammered awkwardly, not wanting to drive her away.

“It’s, uh, quite hot in here,” he made a flimsy excuse. “Unlike most Cardassians, I prefer cooler temperatures.”

“So do I.”

She chose to accept his explanation but dismissed herself after trite small talk. Damar had the bartender refill her glass and placed his lips where hers had clearly been to drink. The liquid was now flavored with her pomegranate flavored lipstick. The beverage and the company were really not that terrible.


	5. The Project

Damar discovered Siana’s workplace and decided to give it a visit, using the pretext that the Dominion wanted to see the progress of her lab. Siana was dressed in a lab coat and most of her face was covered in a mask and goggles, but he had committed her face to memory. As long as he could see her eyes, he recognized her and picked her out quickly.

“What are you doing here?” she was startled.

“Tell me about your research. It’s for a report Weyoun requires,” he fibbed.

Her tone became all business, “We are studying the addiction to the White. The Founders are disturbed to hear rumors that the addiction they bred and fostered in their super soldiers might actually be broken. We are supposed to confirm or discredit those rumors.”

“It that remotely possible?” Damar was astounded. “And what did my addiction have to do with it?”

“Sometimes I need control data, Legate. We have not broken the addiction of a single Jem’Hadar soldier yet, but I’m attempting never before used techniques.”

“But aren’t they disciplined or strong enough to quit cold turkey like me?”

“You didn’t exactly quit cold turkey. I imprisoned you and sabotaged your drink, making the very thing you wanted most a repulsive thing. That psychological trick can do wonders. White, however, is the most addictive substance I have seen mentally and physically. There’s also another nasty new element the Founders introduced. To the Jem’Hadar, the very act of taking the drug is the ultimate religious experience. That’s a very manipulative and creative tactic.”

“I thought it was simply giving the soldiers a vital protein or enzyme that they needed in the first place to survive. The Founders purposely cut it out of them, right?”

“You are partially correct. Some Jem’Hadar is evolving to produce it again and the Founders are foiled. Nature tends to try to correct medical and artificial tampering over time. They simply tell those soldiers they need it. Creating a need where there isn’t one is an older than dirt tactic.”

“How do you know what the experience is like? Have you sampled White?” Damar asked.

“Even in my wildest youth, I wouldn’t touch the stuff! Besides, the Founders and Vorta guard it carefully,” Siana shook her head. “It’s not meant for recreational use or for any other species other than Jem’Hadar. They won’t let me near it. The only access I have is to the soldiers themselves going through withdrawal and fighting to stay off the drug as long as possible.”

“That’s got to be torture for them!” Damar exclaimed.

“It is. Some have even expired.”

“And the Founders have no problem with that?”

“No because they can just create more in their labs. Each soldier dies thinking they have served their gods and proven their need for them if they die from their withdrawal. I told you that it is a monstrous thing they have done. They created an entire species addicted from their first moments to a drug!”

“So what are these techniques you use that are so original and interesting, Siana?”

“Meditation and spiritual counseling.”

Damar burst out laughing at that. "Spiritual? You know there isn't such a thing as a spirit, right?"

Siana’s eyes flashed, “What is so funny? I’m reversing the Founder’s tactics! I’m telling them that they DON’T need the White. They can commune with their Founders in a healthier way. They’d execute me for trying to convert them, but if I keep telling the Jem’Hadar they are gods, they find and support my work.”

“What about the vast majority of Jem’Hadar that still need the lacking protein? Can’t we just find a way to synthesize it for them ourselves?”

“I am not a molecular biologist and the Founders keep the physiology of the Jem’Hadar secret. Star Fleet may have the technology to create the protein, but the spiritual hold is far more crippling than the physical need. In a way, my dear Damar, religion can be addictive and toxic.”

“You can say that again,” he grumbled. “Do any of the Jem’Hadar rise to the bait of the activity of silly humming, squatting and chanting”

“They are at least willing to try, and that is a victory in itself” Siana hissed. “Most of them simply want to fight and kill and do nothing else! Let me show you something.”

Damar followed her to a viewing screen. She pulled up some footage of several types of brain scans. He was skeptical. There were different brains belonging to different species lighting up in colorful displays or merely flickering. He couldn’t tell which was which. 

“Let me guess,” he sighed. “The last one lighting up like a festival of rainbow light was a Bajoran in meditative trance and the brain glowing like a half dead ember was a Jem’Hadar’s wasn’t it?”

“Actually the weakest was a Terran brain,” she surprised him. “The strongest was a Bajoran’s, yes. The median was actually a young Jem’Hadar’s brain. They don’t stay young long, but they show potential. Honestly, meditation helped me and since Bajorans have perfected the method over many generations-“

“Are you a shrine slave?” Damar couldn’t help himself. “You believe in those wormhole aliens like Bajorans?”

Siana paused instead of getting angry for once, “I don’t know about the Prophets, but the method seems to work for certain individuals, Damar.”

“I thought you were a scientist!” Damar was confused.

“Haven’t you ever heard of a spiritual scientist?”

“Not really. On Cardassia, you are a scientist. On Bajor, they call themselves philosophers. There is only one reality.”

“Science is a method of explaining the universe, Damar.”

“You just said religion was a terrible addiction and nothing more!”

She scoffed in annoyance, “You’re twisting my words, Cardassian! Do you all have to take things so literally? Anything can be addictive in excess! Moderation and discipline is the key. You could easily relapse into your alcoholism. Something will happen or nothing will happen. You’ll want to reach for a drink. Some part of your brain is probably still vulnerable to that urge. You have to make the choice not to drink every time. Some people don’t have the discipline Cardassians have born and bred into them. They rely on faith. I don’t care what they use as long as they are not slaves and they don’t wither and die needlessly!”

Damar looked at her in a new light and with admiration. He began to wonder if the best parts of the galaxy had been melded into her mind and body. He didn’t used to believe there could be such a thing as a soul, but a small part of him yearned for it to be true. 

“You want to save lives, Siana. I understand,” he said.

“I want to free the Jem’Hadar someday.”

“I hope you do, but this is dangerous. What will happen to you if the Founders suspect you might actually be capable of breaking their addiction? Should you? What would happen to the galaxy if the Jem’Hadar went unchecked?”

They both shuddered a little at the thought.

“I’m being careful, Damar. Trust me.”

“I barely know you, woman!”

“All you need to know is that I’m on your side, Damar. I am on the side of freedom. I am on the side of life.”


	6. Bickering

With the fog of his addiction cleared, Damar reached back into his memory banks and realized that he had spotted Siana in the bar at Dominion headquarters many times before but simply never really saw her. She wasn’t trying to draw attention then anyway. She sat in shadow and merely observed her surroundings. Damar had failed to notice and he needed to rectify that error on top of his numerous others. 

He couldn’t fail to notice her now even if he wanted to. He watched the door for her. He followed her movements as she walked with proud strides through the room. She didn’t care if she bumped shoulders with Cardassians, Vorta, or Jem’Hadar. He could smell her perfume and gazed without shyness into her brown eyes. He was fascinated with those pouty lips. Her mixed features became intriguing too.

“How much Cardassian do you have in you?” he impulsively asked. “Is it a quarter or a third?”

“Well, can you smell my pheromones?”

“I can.”

“Then you answered your own question. The answer is that I have more than enough.”

She froze up and was horrified that she had spoken before thinking. She blamed her other genes for that. If he could smell her pheromones, it meant she was giving away that she was attracted to him. Luckily he didn’t ask if she could smell his.

“The ridges on your nose are obviously Bajoran,” he pointed out.

“Do people take time out of their busy schedules to constantly comment about the spoon shape on your face?” Siana snapped though she was angry at herself.

“Honestly, I’m not trying to poke fun at you. I’ve always thought Bajoran nose ridges were incredibly cute.”

She snickered but drank the beverage he had purchased for her again.

“Is it true that you were addicted to everything?” he asked.

“Is it true that you are married?” she shot back.

“Siana, we are merely drinking and talking.”

“But why?” she said suspiciously.

“Why did you help me?” he deflected.

“I told you it was for my data and for pure altruism!”

“What if I don’t believe you?” he said boldly.

“You’d be a fool!” she insulted.

“Your reaction says otherwise,” he countered.

“You’re reading too deeply into my words!” she parried.

“Which ones?” he went on the defense. “Specifically, which words?”

“I think I liked you better when you were a drunkard!” she attacked again.

“Ah, because then you could take advantage of me? I’m starting to question your motives again! Did you enjoy undressing me and not just with your eyes but with your hands?”

She blushed furiously and exploded, “I didn’t remove them because I wanted to! You were the one that started pulling them off in a drunken stupor and I actually put more clothes on you! Now drink your dammed corn syrup and shut up!”

Damar was reveling in their battle of wills and words. His wife barely spoke more than two words to him. They had never had such stimulating conversation even when they were courting. Cardassians loved such rivalry between mates. Siana must have more than a quarter of Cardassian in her after all. She could smell his pheromones and they were getting stronger…

He took a sip of his fake drink as she ordered obediently and pretended it was the best thing in the world. Until he just couldn’t anymore. He spit it out and Siana actually began to laugh! It wasn’t a bitter or dry laugh like she usually uttered. This was a laugh of pure joy and it was magical. He began to chuckle himself.

“I enjoy your company, Siana,” he blurted.

She paled that time and wiped his mouth with a napkin for him. Then she quickly began to retreat. Damar followed her. She heard him pursuing her from behind and thought for sure he would give up the chase after a little while, but he didn’t. When she tried to slip into her quarters, he slipped inside with her. She began to breathe heavily with both fright and excitement.

“What are you doing, Damar?”

“Is the temperature in here adequate?”

That had become code around the station for Cardassians. What he was really asking was if her room was bugged and if it was safe for them to be open and honest. If she replied it was too hot, he would know it wasn’t safe.

“It’s cool enough,” she let him know it was safe.

“I am terribly worried about you,” he became very serious. “You should stop research on the White Addiction. The Founders or Weyoun will eventually try to silence you or have you killed. You must know that, Siana.”

She was terribly silent at that. 

“Siana?” desperation crept into Damar’s voice. “Please don’t throw your life away. You may free the Jem’Hadar someday. Perhaps you can when this Dominion War is done. Starfleet has been doing far better than they anticipated. It is entirely possible they will lose this war.”

“And if they do lose?” she whispered. “What will that mean for Cardassia? What will that mean for us? Won’t Starfleet execute us anyway? Why do you care if I live or die?”

“You helped me when everyone else gave up on me,” he told her. “My wife was no help. My fellow officers were no help. My family was no help. You are the reason why I am still sober.”

“My life might be worth sacrificing if it frees the Jam’Hadar. If I break their addiction, I can break the Dominion. They can’t enslave the galaxy.”

“If you break their addiction too early, they might become mindless killing machines killing their old gods and innocents alike, Siana. They aren’t like Cardassians or even Klingons.”

She sighed, realizing that he was right, “But what should I do instead?”

“Give the Founders what they want instead of the truth. Tell them the addiction cannot be broken. I’ll make certain you are taken care of. You forget that I’m the leader of Cardassia. Help me to help my planet and my people.”

“What do you really want, Damar?” she demanded.

“I want a Cardassia that I am proud of again. I don’t want it to be known as a servant of the Dominion. I don’t want it to be known as the empire that seizes planets and rapes their resources and women either. I want it to not only be strong, as Dukat kept saying, but honorable!”

She smiled at him, “You might make a good leader after all.”

“I don’t want to see you dead,” he said tenderly, making her smile vanish and her eyes gleam. “I hated you when we first met. I am ashamed of that now. You are a good person and what you are doesn’t matter. If there is such a thing as a soul, you have one, and it is a pure and compassionate soul. You berate me because you care. I wonder just how wonderful you could be if you allowed me to see your softer side.”

“Legate Damar-“she backed away until she hit the wall of her quarters.

“Siana,” he placed his hands against the wall near her and leaned in but didn’t crush himself to her like he wanted. 

“What do you really want?”

“I want to kiss you. May I?”

She couldn’t breathe for a spell. Neither could he. 

Finally, she let out a single word when she remembered to breathe, “Yes!”

He kissed her, pressing into her then. Not only did she allow him to kiss her, she opened her mouth to his almost instantly. He hadn’t expected her to be as eager as he was. There were no substances being abused. There was no haze or confusion. There was just two people opening up and enjoying the sensation of one another.

“Do you know how long it has been, Damar?” she said to him in a rush.

“How long has it been for you?”

“Years!” she groaned.

“The last time I had good satisfying sex, it was probably when my son was conceived,” he confessed. “Also years.”

“Promise you won’t get addicted to me?”

“I’m not making any promises!”

“I suddenly don’t care at the moment!”

“Neither do I.”


	7. Epilogue

Siana woke before Damar. He was snoring softly and drooling a little on his pillow. She giggled and wiped it away with the bed sheet and closed his jaw. Then she stroked the ridges of his face. She especially loved his brow ridges and his blue eyes. She kissed his brows fondly and then began to dress him so that when Weyoun inevitably found him, it would seem like he had fallen asleep in his armor drunk. She purposely left her red dress in tangles at the foot of the bed, changing into her work clothes quickly and slipping out.

Weyoun had to use the computer to find Damar who had purposely slept in. He did it both so he could remain in bed a little longer holding Siana in his arms and so that he could annoy the Vorta. He pretended to be in a drunken stupor. Luckily Weyoun had no idea whose quarters he was in and simply enjoyed degrading the Legate yet again. He assumed Damar had spent the night with another Bajoran dabo girl.

As time passed, the Cardassian continued to work against the Dominion under Weyoun’s nose. He took advantage of the fact that the Vorta had poor eyesight. They were terribly nearsighted and colorblind so he could get away with looking at maps and data in the computer easily if he merely adjusted the color scheme. One glance was usually all he needed with his photographic Cardassian memory recovered. He began to use Gul Rusot in his schemes, a friend and fellow officer from his youth. Soon, he would have a Resistance Cell ready and operational. 

“I will liberate Cardassia,” he said to himself. “Or die trying.”

Meanwhile Siana did exactly as her lover advised her. She told the Founders comforting lies that the addiction they instilled could never be broken successfully. She didn’t really lie, she simply gave up on the research for now. Damar slipped her funds that he got by claiming the winnings Weyoun always forgot to collect on, taking secret pleasure in that fact.

He was planning a secret attack upon the Dominion cloning facilities when Siana called upon him in his quarters. He was always happy to see her and stopped to kiss her, but she put a finger to his gray lips.

“I have something to tell you,” she said seriously. “Something big.”

He swallowed but urged, “Yes?”

“I’m carrying your child.”

He sucked in a breath and she looked as though she would burst into tears. He wasn’t angry or upset like he thought he would be if a woman other than his wife announced this sort of thing to him. He guarded his emotions like a proper Cardassian but wanted to show her support. He squeezed her shoulders and waited for her to say something first. She was encouraged that he didn’t overreact one way or another.

“I was on birth control, Damar, but it failed. These things can happen,” she explained.

“You were on birth control. I was not. If either of us ‘failed’ here, it was me,” he said.

“I know how Cardassians feel about bastards.”

“Don’t call this child that!” he couldn’t help himself. “I will never call it that. It was conceived in love. That is all that matters, not wedlock.”

“Do you really believe that?” she cocked her head.

“I have opened and expanded my mind a great deal in the past few years,” he let out an exasperated sigh. “However, no one must know about this child until it is safe. I tried to take certain precautions to protect my wife and son on Cardassia, but there is only so much I can do when their existence is public knowledge. You and this little one will have the benefit of secrecy, if you choose to have it and keep it? I will not force a pregnancy or motherhood on you.”

Siana looked directly into his eyes, “I have thought about it a lot. I considered not even telling you about this. I decided I won’t terminate a life, but I am just unsure about myself. I am not Cardassian, Damar. This child needs a proper upbringing. It needs a clear identity and family. I have never had those things. I don’t want to poison my son or daughter with my genes-“

He interrupted her with a passionate kiss and told her, “You are a precious jewel that your family stupidly threw away. You are being very Cardassian right now, over-analyzing yourself and being overcautious. The way you constantly do little things to take care of me proves you would be a good mother if you gave yourself the chance. Just love our child, and if you somehow screw it up, that’s what therapy is for, right?”

She half smiled and kissed him back. They realized this was a bitter sweet moment.

“You must go into hiding,” he declared.

“I know.”

“Cardassian territory is about to become very dangerous. Take yourself and our baby to neutral space until Cardassia is safe again. My family will have to accept you as long as the child is mine.”

“I will, Damar.”

“Keep our baby safe. I’ll come for you both if and when I can. Do you believe me?”

“You must save and serve Cardassia first. Not only for your existing son, but for this child as well. It’ll be mostly Cardassian. Worry about your planet and people, then your real family, and us last.”

“Siana, you and this child mean more to me than just a side note.”

She straightened herself and slipped from his arms, saying sadly, “I fear that’s all we are, my poor Damar. We are just side characters in your story. What shall I name this child when it comes? I want to honor the father by allowing him to name it.”

“Jivan.”

“Jivan it is.”

“I will come for you,” Damar promised earnestly.

“I hope so, my love. I truly hope so.”

**Author's Note:**

> "Drive" by Incubus
> 
> Sometimes, I feel the fear of uncertainty stinging clear  
And I can't help but ask myself how much I'll let the fear  
Take the wheel and steer
> 
> It's driven me before  
And it seems to have a vague, haunting mass appeal  
But lately I am beginning to find  
That I should be the one behind the wheel
> 
> Whatever tomorrow brings  
I'll be there with open arms and open eyes  
Whatever tomorrow brings  
I'll be there, I'll be there
> 
> So if I decide to waiver my chance  
To be one of the hive  
Will I choose water over wine  
And hold my own and drive?  
It's driven me before  
And it seems to be the way that everyone else gets around  
But lately I am beginning to find  
That when I drive myself my light is found
> 
> So whatever tomorrow brings  
I'll be there with open arms and open eyes  
Whatever tomorrow brings  
I'll be there, I'll be there
> 
> Would you choose water over wine  
Hold the wheel and drive?
> 
> Whatever tomorrow brings  
I'll be there with open arms and open eyes  
Whatever tomorrow brings  
I'll be there, I'll be there


End file.
